Vita Ante Acta
by prettypilipala
Summary: When the Order was in need of a spy, it was Hermione who volunteered. But only now, almost seventy years later, is she able to tell her story. This is it. HermioneDraco.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** JK owns, not I.

For those who may be curious, the title translates to "A Life Done Before". Um, there's not all that much to say about it, so I shall cease rambling and let you get to the story.

* * *

If you are reading this, then I am gone.

I will try to answer all questions within this story; although there are some that cannot be answered, and others that cannot be asked. But it is a story that must be told. It is a story of war, of tyranny, and rebellion; a story of love and dedication. Most of all, it is a history of what happened, from one who was right in the centre of it all.

I ask that you do not judge me until you have reached the end. Do not judge me on a period of turbulence such as this. I did what I had to do; what any person with half a conscience would do. I am not necessarily proud of what I _have_ done, but it is done, and too late to change. I will try to show you how hard it was for me, so you will see that I am not _completely_ heartless.

To my beloved children, Ajax and Leda; try to remember me as the mother I was to you, and not the person you read about in these pages. Since becoming a mother, I've changed; I've become a better person. War causes people to change for the worse, my darlings. I only hope that you will never have to experience it.

I hope that I'm now with my husband once more, and we can be together forever, as we were meant to be.

My husband… the biggest shock to both myself and my friends. This shall explain it; all is recorded here, for the sake of posterity. Let me tell you my story.

My name is Hermione Malfoy, and I am a Muggleborn.

* * *

I haven't always been a Malfoy. At Hogwarts, I went by my real name of 'Hermione Granger.' You will probably recognise the name: for years I was celebrated as Harry Potter's Best Friend, one of the Golden Trio; Head Girl, Order member, beacon of hope alongside Harry against the force of the Death Eaters.

For some reason, it's always amused me that this perception has lingered even after the 'death' of Hermione Granger. I've read countless books, articles and theories that list me as a martyr, the first in this second war against the Dark Lord. Being placed alongside Harry's parents has been a great honour, and at the same time a great worry for me. For when the truth came out, I thought I would taint all those who truly died for their beliefs. I felt a coward, at the time; and there are an equal number of theories that describe me as such. Now, I can proudly say that I did the right thing.

What did I do, though? What was it that was so drastic, so vast and important that I would reinvent myself this way? What would make me become the person I am as I write this, what would drive me to marry a Malfoy and hide away from the world?

I will try to explain, and I hope you will try to understand. Harry swore to me that he would keep this secret – even Ron Weasley, my other best friend, is convinced I died early on in the war. It was better that way: for there were countless people who had grieved for Hermione Granger. She even had a memorial, at the commemorative church established in Godric's Hollow. To let these people know that I had deceived them was the worst thing I could think of.

And so I have lived out the rest of my life – I am eighty-seven as I write this, and my darling children are becoming grandparents themselves – under this false name, only ever called 'Hermione' again by the two who knew the truth: Harry, and my beloved Draco.

So now I apologise to you, who might read this. I truly did not intend to do what I did, to keep the farce up for this long; but circumstances demanded it, situations arose; and the one thing Hermione Granger is famed for is the intellect and sense to take care of situations. Perhaps these last few situations, those recorded here, were taken care of in somewhat unconventional means, but if we still live in a world free from the influence of the Dark Lord, if we still live in a peaceful and prosperous world, then I can safely say that they were taken care of.

I won't bore you with knowledge of my early life. I know this has been extensively recorded, and there are more important areas of my life that need to be written down. I will not die a traitor; I will not die a martyr. I will simply die with the truth told, and that will be enough for me.

When did it all begin? I suppose it started after leaving Hogwarts before seventh year, chasing after horcruxes with Harry and Ron. We didn't find any that year, but we found something more important. We found out the truth about war, about death and what it was like to be caught on a battlefield. We found out what it was like to have to kill someone.

We joined the Order, and it is there, two years later, that this story opens.

* * *

"Harry!"

Hermione flew into the kitchen, her face pale and the morning _Prophet_ clutched in her hand. "Harry, more news."

Harry was standing in front of the fire, his green eyes reflecting the erratic dance of the flames. Hermione stopped short of him, and watched the eerie picture for a moment. What they were doing, it was just a dance; and Voldemort was completely out of their reach.

"How many?" Harry hadn't slept in days, she noted. There were bags under his eyes, and his voice was tired and dull. He didn't sound surprised to hear the news.

"Four," she said ruefully. There was a slight twitch of Harry's face, as if he was controlling a scream of anger, and then Harry sat down. She was getting good at interpreting what he wanted without asking him – they all had to be – and she wordlessly handed him the paper.

The Dark Mark was gloriously emblazoned across the front, a picture of a once idyllic fishing village utterly destroyed by the horrific green mark looming in the sky over it. Above it was the headline, **_FOUR MORE VILLAGES ATTACKED BY YOU-KNOW-WHO!_** According to the _Prophet_, over ten thousand had been massacred in the attack; Muggles and wizards alike.

Underneath the picture was a sub-headline that made them both wince.

_WHAT WILL POTTER DO ABOUT IT?_

"Harry," started Hermione weakly – she hadn't read that far through the article – but Harry cut her off as he launched the _Prophet_ neatly into the fire.

"Nothing," he said, talking to the newspaper. "I _can't_ do anything about it." Usually he would have shouted that, but events were taking their toll. "I can't predict these, Hermione. I can't save them."

"It's not your fault, Harry."

"Tell that to _them_." He glared at the smouldering paper, and then rested his head in his hands. Ron entered the room quietly, guessing what had happened.

"It's alright, mate," he said comfortingly, settling down next to Harry. "We'll figure out a way."

"There _is_ no way." Harry sounded utterly depressed, and Hermione exchanged a worried look with Ron. "There is no way, there is no point. There aren't even any horcruxes to find. The only way we'll be able to kill Voldemort-" Ron winced, he still wasn't used to hearing the name "-is if he destroys all his horcruxes, and then hands me a wand and says 'Have fun.' I can't do anything."

"We need a spy," grumbled Ron. "At least Snape was useful, until he got killed." Nobody quite knew how; Severus Snape had just turned up one morning, hung in his potions lab. Hermione suspected he'd finally gotten careless, although it wasn't like a wizard to use hanging as a punishment. Voldemort would, though.

"Do we know of any Death Eaters that could be persuaded to help out?" asked Harry, although reluctantly. This was a conversation they had nearly every day. They all knew Ron's answer, before he opened his mouth.

"None at all."

Hermione joined the two at the table, deep in thought, and not even the sound and scent of Mrs. Weasley's cooking could stir them from their reveries.

'_Ron's right,'_ she thought, only moving so that Mrs Weasley could set her plate down. _'We need an insider.'_ She finally shook herself back to reality, giving Mrs Weasley a wan smile.

"Thanks," she said, elbowing Ron and tucking into her food. _'We _need_ a spy. And- I think I know how to do it.'_

* * *

Hermione locked herself away in the Order's library, surrounded by mountains of books and parchment. Nobody dared ask what she was looking for – nobody ever did. She would tell them when she was ready to. It was weeks before she was ready, but she finally cornered Harry, scrolls of parchment clutched in her hands and tucked under her arms.

"Harry," she said, a glimmer of excitement in her eye. "I know how we can get a spy in Voldemort's ranks." Harry raised his head, interest showing in his eyes.

"How?" He pulled her into an empty room, casting silencing spells around it as he shut the door. Even in the Order's headquarters, they had to be careful.

"By sending in one of ours to become a Death Eater."

"Hermione, we've talked about this before. I'm not going to put anyone in danger like that. We need everyone we can get, and we need them all _alive_."

"Let me do it."

"Are you _crazy_!" Harry gave Hermione an incredulous glare, but the look on her face said she was deadly serious. "Hermione, you are one of the two people in this Order in almost as much danger as I am. It'd be like sending a lamb to the slaughter."

"Except this lamb can do it." Hermione began to pace, ticking things off on her fingers as she spoke. "I'm intelligent, and I crave knowledge. I'm close to you, so I can be useful. And I'm a Muggleborn." She stopped, and put her hands on her hips. "If I play this right, Voldemort will see me as a power-hungry knowledge-seeking Mudblood who wants to prove herself to the Wizarding world. And he'll see me as a way to get to you, so if I can convince him I'm genuine, I know he'll keep me around."

"Hermione…" Harry was at a loss. She'd certainly thought it through, but how could she do this? "How can you convince Voldemort that you hate me?"

"There are ways." She started unscrolling parchment. "There are ways to bypass all truth serums; there are ways to fight off the Imperius. There are even ways to _pretend_ being under the Imperius and keep full control, if you go far enough back into Dark Magic."

"That's what you've been researching?" Harry looked lost in this whirl of information. "What about torture, though? Cruciatus?"

"Occlumency," replied Hermione grimly. "And experience."

"_What!_"

"If I'm going to do this, people will have to put me under the Cruciatus. Once I learn what it's like, I can fight it, I can convince Voldemort." Hermione wasn't pleading. She was even more convincing this way, though.

"I- I can't, Hermione." Harry turned to go. "I just can't."

"So are you going to sit back and let him win?" It was a dangerous challenge, and it might push Harry too far, but Hermione knew it had to be done. "This way, I can help, Harry. If I can work up a reputation as a Death Eater, then you and I, we could manipulate Voldemort himself! We could know his every move before he made it, and counter it before it's too late! And we could do it in ways that makes him think it's bad luck, and not a spy, that's stopping him!"

"You'd have to torture people, Hermione. You'd have to have the Dark Mark, and go out on attacks. You'd be putting your life on the line, and you'd have to kill other people."

"I know."

Silence reigned as Harry thought over this. Hermione, for once knowing when silence was best, stood back and folded her hands neatly, trying not to interrupt Harry's thoughts. Eventually, he turned to her, running a hand through his hair in exasperation and desperation.

"Alright," he whispered; she could barely hear it, but she knew what he'd said. "Alright," he repeated a bit louder. "We'll do it. But-" he cut her off as she moved to hug him, "-only you, me, and Ron can know."

"The rest of the Order will think I betrayed them, when this goes public."

"I know." Harry cast his eyes downward. "But it's the only way to make it realistic. I'm not even sure about telling Ron, but I'll need him to help me prepare you."

"You'll help me?"

"Yes." Even though Harry spoke sadly, his eyes were alive for the first time in weeks, dancing with excitement at the prospect of something happening. "We'll help you. Come on, let's go find him."

Hermione followed Harry from the room, the smile on her face not betraying the dread she felt inside. _'Fool the Dark Lord? I only hope I can!'_

* * *

"_Crucio_!"

It was the seventh time she'd been put under the Cruciatus in an hour, Harry holding the wand above her with a cold, emotionless look on his face. At his side, Ron's wand twitched, and she felt the impact of the Imperius against her Occlumency shields. Her whole body was writhing in agony, twitching underneath the spell, and she let out an ear-piercing scream.

"Who do you work for?" demanded Harry, his voice scarier than Voldemort's ever could be. Hermione twisted under the spell, and gasped out an answer.

"I- I would work for- for you, Lord Voldemort!" she whispered, her sentence broken by screams and groans. Ron looked up at Harry, who released Hermione from the Cruciatus.

"No more," Ron said firmly. "We've put her through this every day for the past two weeks. Cruciatus, twenty times a day! If she can't survive it after that, she never will."

Ron hadn't taken too kindly to the initial idea, but now he could see the benefit of it. Hermione's intelligence was something both sides craved – and her intellect turned to spying could be what turned the war in their favour.

"No more," agreed Harry breathlessly. "Hermione, are you ready?"

"I'll lay my plans tonight," she whispered, still sprawled out on the floor, gasping for breath. "I don't know when I'll be granted an audience, but I'll start looking tonight."

"Good luck," Harry whispered back, and he turned and left the room quickly. Ron grimaced, helping Hermione up.

"This is harder for him than it is for you," he said sadly. "Be careful, Hermione. We can't afford to lose you."

"I'll be careful." Hermione waited until Ron had left, and then she went to her desk and took out some parchment and a quill.

_Pansy,_

_I need your help..._

* * *

"It's done," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron as she arrived at the kitchen table. She instantly began to demolish her food, thanking Mrs Weasley profusely, and thinking that if something went wrong, she'd never taste this food again. The realisation of how much danger she'd put herself in made her pale, and she heard someone comment on how peaky she was looking.

"What now?" asked Ron quietly as Tonks tried to engage him in a conversation about Quidditch. Hermione shrugged.

"Now we wait," she answered. Ron nodded, answering Tonks enthusiastically and trying to pretend that everything was normal. Hermione unfolded a book, and Harry picked at his food half-heartedly. To anyone on the outside, everything _was_ normal.

Hermione was quite surprised when, that evening, an owl tapped at her bedroom window. She opened the window, and the owl dropped a letter at her feet. It had elaborate writing scrawled across the front – _Miss H. Granger_.

She opened it up nervously, and instantly her heart leapt.

_Hermione,_

_Well, well. I never thought I'd see the day you'd want to become a Death Eater… although with friends like Potter and Weasley, I can't blame you. Visit me at the time below, and we shall discuss finer details…_

It was the letter she'd been waiting for. She Floo'd a message to Harry, and within seconds he was in her room, reading the letter for himself.

"You were right," was his only comment. "They do want you."

"Everything is going well so far."

"You're not to have any contact with us about it until you've got established there. Do it as if it was real, not all a ploy. And for god's sake, don't get yourself killed, Hermione. Don't do anything stupid. We need you."

"Harry, I won't let you down. I promise."

* * *

First chapter! The second will follow shortly, though I make no dates :p If you enjoyed, or even if you didn't, please leave a comment! Good or bad, all are appreciated. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** JK still owns. Not fair, but true.

I'm not entirely sure what the policy is on thanking reviewers, so I shall just say a heartfelt **thank you!** to the nine who reviewed and hand out cookies as incentive :) (and now, the story.)

* * *

A few days later, Hermione was slipping up the driveway to the Parkinson's Scottish estate, a black cloak covering her and illusion charms surrounding her. She knocked on the door, and a house-elf greeted her. It was hard to resist the urge to try and free the poor fellow, and instead she aimed a harsh kick at it in passing. It led her to Pansy's sitting room, and whimpered and yelped its way back to the kitchens.

"Granger," greeted Pansy pleasantly. "I see you took precautions on your way here."

"My morals might have changed, but my sense hasn't," answered Hermione. Pansy waved her to a seat, removing the charms surrounding her. Another spell washed over Hermione, and she recognised it as a search ward.

"You'll forgive me for having to search you," apologised Pansy insincerely when the ward gave a cheerful little chime, finding nothing. Hermione nodded mutely, taking the proffered seat. "Your story does seem a little… incredulous." Pansy's manners had certainly changed since Hogwarts – she had turned from a pug-faced brat into an eloquent aristocrat – who seemed to guard her tongue well in matters concerning the war. It was surprising how decent she was, when her arrogance was kept in check. Hermione gave a little laugh.

"To be honest, I was afraid you wouldn't see me," she said. "I know it seems too good to be true… but Pansy, I really need your help. I need to get out of there, before it drives me insane."

"I'd imagine Potter's enough to get to anyone," murmured Pansy sympathetically. "Why don't you tell me the real reason, Granger? Tell me why you want to be a Death Eater."

"The same reason you do, Pansy." Hermione's voice was low, hungry, utterly convincing. "I'm fed up of being second best to bloody Potter. He takes all the credit for my hard work, never gives me my due… I'm sick of it. He's worthless anyway – what good is a supposed _saviour_" she spat the word "who can't fight back? These past two years, the Dark Lord has outwitted Potter time and time again, and Potter is just too weak to fight back. Why should I stay on the losing side?"

"Why should you, indeed." Pansy's face was expressionless, and she clapped her hands. A different house-elf appeared, bearing a tray of tea. "Do go on, Hermione."

The first hurdle was out of the way, realised Hermione – Pansy had addressed her by name. As an equal. She sipped her tea, recognising the familiar taste (by now) of veritaserum. She was thankful for her training, and made sure to keep her Occlumency shields up. Her mind was filled with a need for power, respect and fear. Just the image she wanted to project.

"There's not much else to say," shrugged Hermione gracefully. She had to show that she was good enough. "I'm not going to lose in this war. The Dark Lord is the clear winner, and Potter's luck is running out. If I join the winning side, I can finally achieve the one thing I've wanted since I found out about this world."

"Oh?" Pansy was excellent, Hermione noted. She showed no reaction whatsoever, until she had heard everything. "And what's that?"

"Power," answered Hermione, a glint in her eye. "The one thing that the Dark Lord can give me. I want to taste true power, not the substitute that Potter's been spoon feeding me. I was foolish in Hogwarts; I went with what I thought was 'right'. Now, though… I can see the truth."

"The truth?"

"There is no good and evil," she said, quoting directly from what Harry had told her about Quirrell in their first year. "There is only power, and those too weak to seek it." The effect this had on Pansy was electric – to hear one of the Dark Lord's teachings directly from the mouth of her supposed enemy was clearly a shock. Her eyes opened wide, and she visibly jumped, spilling tea everywhere. Hermione continued as if she hadn't noticed this.

"I am not weak," she finished. "I will not carry on with the worthless life Potter has provided me with. I want to taste true power, and I will not stop until I do." She had just the right tone of menace mixed with lust for power, and Pansy nodded slowly.

"You- certainly _seem_ vehement enough," she commented, a whispered _scourgify_ removing the tea from her robes. "But it's not me you need to convince, Hermione. I can take you to the Dark Lord, but I can't make him accept you."

"All I ask is that you give me that chance, Pansy."

The pureblood was silent, contemplating what had been said. Hermione bowed her head, out of apparent respect for the pureblood and out of hope. She knew she would be a valuable asset to Voldemort's forces. She only hoped this was enough, that her performance had been enough to get her to the next step.

Pansy finally lowered her tea, and leaned forward. She took one of Hermione's hands in hers.

"I can give you that chance."

* * *

Hermione sat in her room in the Leaky Cauldron, her hands clasping a black robe nervously. Tonight, Pansy had assured her, was the night she met the other Death Eaters. Pansy had even provided her with a robe – Hermione knew that Pansy would be rewarded for this- but only she was found to be genuine.

'_Please, let me convince him.'_ It had been easy to convince Pansy – she was so fixated on the benefit of having one of Harry's best friends as a Death Eater that she hadn't interrogated Hermione as hard as Voldemort would: and he would interrogate her as thoroughly as he could. She shivered at the thought.

"Almost time," she whispered softly. She couldn't leave from the Order – too easy to trace – and this gave the illusion of distance, too. It was perfect. The robe was a Portkey and when it was time, she would be transported to the meeting place. Pansy would meet her there, and then-

-then she would be face to face with Voldemort.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she wondered aloud, throwing herself back on the bed. She'd asked herself that every day since coming up with the idea, and each time the answer made her more determined.

'_Yes. I'm doing the right thing, because this way we can defeat Voldemort once and for all.'_

"Yes," she whispered aloud, hugging herself. She slipped the robe over her shoulders, and moved to stand by the window as the clock ticked down. "This is the right thing to do." She glanced up at the clock – five seconds – then swallowed as the familiar pull of the Portkey took her from the centre of London to a snow-covered forest in the far corner of Europe, to try and fool the great Dark Lord himself.

She landed in a snowdrift, her mouth filling with snow as she did so. Pansy was standing next to her, her face hidden behind the mask of all Death Eaters.

"Come," she commanded imperiously, hoisting Hermione to her feet. Hermione had no choice but to follow, and she straightened her robes, pulled her hood up and tidied herself as she walked behind Pansy. Along the way they were accompanied by several other Death Eaters, marching along wordlessly to the meeting place. Hermione felt the tingle of wards pass over her – strong wards, too; hinting at the power of Voldemort – and knew they had entered the meeting place.

"I was surprised to see you here," commented Pansy, taking her place within the circle of Death Eaters. "I expected you to back out."

"I don't ever back out of something I want to do," replied Hermione evenly, quietly. There was no sign of Voldemort, and idle chatter was passing around the circle – much of it aimed at her presence there. She was recognisable, even with a hooded face, and Pansy must have alerted them about her.

"Well, well." A smooth, icy voice came from behind her. "Look at what the cat dragged in." She recognised the voice without turning around; Lucius Malfoy. And she'd bet any money that Draco was at his side, smirking.

"Granger is here to see the Lord, Lucius, not you." Pansy said this rather half-heartedly, as if saying it to keep up appearances. Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around. Sure enough, she recognised Draco's eyes through the white mask, standing next to Lucius.

"You have done well, Pansy." The hand gripped Hermione's chin, lifting it up so that she could stare defiantly in Lucius' eyes. "If she is loyal, she will make a good ally."

"If she is false," continued Draco, "she will make a good _plaything_." Hermione suppressed a shudder, and met their eyes evenly.

"If I were loyal to the other side, I would not be here," she said firmly. An explosion of whispers followed this statement; immediately followed by a deadly silence.

"I'm glad to hear that, Miss Granger."

Without even turning around, Hermione knew the speaker this time, too. There could be no other. She turned around to face the tall, robed figure, and dropped to her knees in a bow. Only then did she dare tilt her face upwards, into the snake-like red eyes.

Lord Voldemort had arrived.

"Good evening," he said, his high-pitched voice almost pleasant. His thin mouth was twisted into a grotesque mockery of a smile. "How may we help you today?"

Hermione wished she could shiver at that smile, show some of the repulsion that was itching to course through her veins; but she couldn't. That would be weakness. Already she could feel the gentle probing of a skilled legilimens, trying to find out the truth. She prayed her shields were strong enough.

"My lord," she said in a low voice, lowering her eyes respectfully. "I have come to offer my services." A titter of disbelief rippled around the circle, silenced only by Voldemort's hand. Of all the Death Eaters, only two did not laugh: Pansy, and Draco.

"We must show respect," ordered Voldemort. He held out his hand towards Hermione, and she took it as calmly as she could. She knew her hands weren't shaking; she knew there was only confidence, where sheer terror should be. "Come with me, Miss Granger." Voldemort led her to the centre of the circle, and then he let go of her hand.

"If Miss Parkinson speaks the truth, as I believe she does – she is not intelligent enough to create such a deceit – then you wish to become one of my Death Eaters." Voldemort was talking to her, but he looked right through her, to the people around them. "Could this be true, my esteemed friends? Would Potter be enough to drive Miss Granger into our fold?"

There were shouts that she couldn't hear properly, but Voldemort could. He tilted his head to one side, his red eyes fixed on Hermione's calm brown ones, and he listened carefully as the circle erupted into contradicting shouts and screams.

"There is doubt," he said calmly, silencing the circle, "about where your loyalties lie, Miss Granger."

"I expected as much," she said, hanging her head as if ashamed. "I am not proud of my past. But… I do believe that this is the right thing to do."

"We shall see." Talking to Voldemort was not what she'd expected. She'd half expected him to talk nonsense, spewing out righteous anti-Muggle slogans left right and centre, complete with maniacal laughs. He was nothing like this. If anything, the only thing that scared her more than standing in front of Voldemort was the fact that he was sane, and highly intelligent.

Fooling him was going to be impossible. Hermione struggled to keep herself composed. _'I've come too far to give up now.'_

She was so focused on this that she didn't notice when Voldemort's wand was raised, and the first thing she knew was when the pain of the Cruciatus wracked her bones once more, causing every nerve end in her body to scream in agonising pain, causing her to collapse and twitch across the floor, a loud scream raising from her mouth and echoing around the circle. This was nothing like being under the Cruciatus with Harry on the other end of the wand – this was ten times, a thousand- a _million_ times worse than she'd ever imagined and the pain was _horrific_…

"Who do you serve?" Voldemort's voice cut through her scream, she could feel his legilimens at her shields harder than ever. Hermione managed to face Voldemort, and she stopped her scream long enough to answer.

"You, my lord," she gasped. The pain intensified. She felt her mouth being forced open, a liquid trickled down her throat. It tasted like veritaserum, but somehow it felt different. Was it a modification?

"Again. Who do you serve?" The pain intensified even more, and she thought her spine was going to break.

"I serve… I serve-" She broke off to scream, and to fight whatever the potion was that they'd forced down her throat. It was far stronger than veritaserum. "I serve you!" she managed to scream. "You, my lord!"

The pain stopped. She was lifted to her feet by a spell of Voldemort's, and he dangled her in the air helplessly. She didn't fight. She couldn't; she had to show total obedience to him.

"Why do you serve me, Miss Granger?" Voldemort's eyes bored into her own, and she knew she couldn't show any signs of doubt, any sign of internal conflict – only complete and utter loyalty to him. Around them, the Death Eaters held their breath as one.

"Because you can give me power," she whispered weakly. "When you win this war, people will respect me, and I will have the power and wealth I have always dreamed of."

Voldemort dropped her.

"Power isn't everything, Miss Granger," he said softly, dangerously. "And neither are words." She clambered to her feet, and found Pansy next to her, holding out a mask. In silence, she put the mask on.

"Prove you are faithful," said Voldemort, almost gleefully. "Join us, in this most glorious night." He disappeared. All around her, the Death Eaters apparated away. Pansy grasped her arm, not unkindly, and disapparated with Hermione in tow. Only her thoughts lingered on the meeting ground.

'_Oh Merlin… what does he want me to do?'_

* * *

They apparated in the middle of a village. All was dark; the villagers in bed sleeping, unaware of the shrouded figures outside their windows. In silence, the Death Eaters spread out, casting charms on the village – Hermione realised that the villagers couldn't call for outside help any more.

"Draco," called Voldemort, "bring our guest. Pansy, come with me. You will form my retinue." It was twisted, but it made sense, and Hermione joined the 'retinue' happily, an eager look in place beneath the mask. _'This is more like it,'_ she thought, letting that slip past her Occlumency shields. Voldemort gave a small smile.

"Welcome to Little Torrington," whispered Voldemort in her ear. She could feel his snake-like tongue flickering in the air above her earlobe. "Tomorrow, this village will be no more." He straightened up, pointing to a house in silence – this was for his retinue to empty – and gave a loud screech.

"Attack, my comrades! Kill them all!" Dragged forward by Pansy, Hermione followed Draco as with a single spell, the door disintegrated and the three of them surged into the house. Voldemort stood outside, laughing like a child as all around him, hell broke loose.

Hermione was directed to a bedroom, to take the occupants outside and present them to Voldemort. She stiffened her resolve, sending a silent apology out to the members of the house before she pointed her wand at the door, blowing it off its hinges, and burst into the bedroom.

Two children sat up in bed, having been woken by the noise. They looked young; no more than five. Hermione's heart stopped.

'_I'm sorry.'_

"Mobiliacorpus."

The two children were lifted by her wand. One of them started to cry in fright, directed out of the door by Hermione's spell. She floated them down the stairs. Draco joined her, his hands stained with blood.

"A fine catch," he said with relish, eying up the two children. "Nice one, Granger." They left the house, and Hermione floated the two over to Voldemort. Deep within her mind, buried under her Occlumency shields, a part of her was crying.

"My lord," she said with a deep bow. Voldemort reached out with his wand, and she felt the children move into his control. _'What is he going to do with them?'_ All around her were screams and laughter, the smell of fire and scorched flesh reached her nostrils, and bodies were floating through the air – some of them _alive_ – as if they were quaffles.

"Such beauty," mused the Dark Lord, a long, elegant finger gently caressing the cheek of the crying child. "Don't you agree?"

"Exquisite," agreed Pansy from behind Hermione's shoulder. Voldemort smiled – a happy, child-like smile. Hermione was more scared now than she ever had been before – but she _had_ to do this, she had to for the sake of the world – and she raised her eyebrows behind her mask as Voldemort dropped the children.

"It's cruel for them to see this," he murmured. "Miss Granger." Draco, from behind, took her wand. "Perhaps you can help them sleep."

'_What? I have to kill them? With my bare hands?'_ Hermione's thoughts were muddled as she bowed to Voldemort, and knelt next to the children. _'It seems so. I- I have to. I'm sorry, children.'_

She took the hands of the smallest, picking it up in a motherly fashion. The child clung to her as she walked over to the house – and gave a quiet cry of 'Mama!' and Hermione held it out, and swung its head into the corner of the wall. The child – who was only about three – died instantly, and Hermione threw it down, like a discarded doll.

"He sleeps, Lord Voldemort," she said calmly, fighting the urge to vomit. "Like a baby." The body was levitated from by her side and added to the pile of bodies in the centre of the village square. Before she could send the other to sleep, though, Voldemort had picked him up.

"Add this one to my collection," he ordered, and a passing Death Eater took the youngster from Voldemort and disapparated with it. Voldemort gave Hermione an appraising look. Behind him, the pile of bodies began to burn, giving him an aura of fire.

"It seems perhaps you aren't _entirely_ Gryffindor," he commented. Draco returned the wand to Hermione, and slipped away into the gathering crowd. Voldemort moved to stand behind Hermione – she could feel his breath on her neck, and his hand clasped her wand hand.

"Come, Miss Granger," he whispered in her ear, raising her wand to the sky. A word came to the forefront of her mind, as if planted there by the Dark Lord, and she knew what she had to do.

"_Morsmordre_," she whispered, shooting the Dark Mark into the smoke-filled sky above the burning village. She had a brief chance to glimpse her handiwork, and to see the beautiful, dented head of the child in the pyre burst into flames before Voldemort disapparated, taking her with him.

They were in another building, though this time there was only the four of them – Voldemort and his chosen retinue for the night. It wasn't a room she recognised, but it was blissfully devoid of people she had to kill, which made it a room she liked.

"Underneath that Gryffindor exterior," mused Voldemort, removing Hermione's mask and running a long, skeletal finger down her cheek, "there lies quite the cold-blooded killer." He seemed impressed, though it was hard to tell. "If you are lying to me, Miss Granger; if you betray me, as you Gryffindors are prone to doing, then I will make you wish you had never tried." His voice was a low, gentle one, almost like a teacher comforting an upset pupil. "Death will seem like heaven when I am done, and believe me, Miss Granger, a lot more impossible." His finger trailed down her neck, down her arm, and he yanked up her sleeve.

"Usually, I would have a ceremony," he said apologetically, pressing his fingers to her forearm, "but for you-" he whispered something, and her arm was burning with a pain worse than the Cruciatus, worse than anything she'd ever felt before – she thought it was going to drop off – it _had_ to-

The pain stopped. She looked down, and was greeted with the sight of the Dark Mark, burned deep into her forearm. Pansy and Draco clapped briefly.

"-For you, Miss Granger, I have no time for ceremonies," Voldemort hissed, throwing her back at Pansy and Draco. "She is yours," he snarled at them – his change in mood frightened Hermione, and it was a struggle to keep calm. "If she betrays us, I will hold you _both_ responsible." Even though Draco had only become involved in the village they had attacked. Hermione thought she was going to faint with everything she had seen and done that night. "Do not let me down."

"I will not let you down," chorused Pansy and Draco, a twisted parody of the very words she had exchanged with Harry before this venture began. Voldemort said no more, but left abruptly. Pansy helped Hermione to her feet, and Draco stood before her. His mask had been removed, revealing the smirk that she knew was there.

"Granger, the baby-killer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I bet Potter would _love_ to hear that." He gave another smirk. "Welcome to the Dark Side, Granger. At last, you've made the right decision."

Her knees were weak, her spine in agony from the Cruciatus, and she felt sick; but it was with defiance and pride that she stood face to face with Draco to answer him.

"I know I have."

* * *

Oo-er:p

Um, yes. :p Next chapter shall go up next weekend sometime, hopefully. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Same as before.

**Thanks for reviewing!**

I thought I ought to mention something about the time scale: It may seem as though things move a little quickly from here on, but this story is meant to show what Hermione feels are important scenes in her life. To show it all would be to go on forever, so there will be bits of time passed over occasionally. If you feel it moves too quickly though, feel free to complain.

* * *

Hermione had decided to stay in the Leaky Cauldron. It was better that way – she could pretend to any potential spies that she had left the Order, and she wouldn't have to be on such a high guard over the Mark. Only Harry would visit her, in disguise, and he could apparate directly in, past her wards. 

Today was the first time he had visited her, a week after her initiation. A long, gruesome week, filled with meetings and further initiations – she had killed almost twenty times, and tortured countless more in an effort to prove her dedication and her thirst for blood and power to the Dark Lord. She felt like a toy, his favourite; being sent out every night to play. There were dark circles under her eyes, but she didn't dare sleep without the aid of a potion. She wouldn't risk the nightmares.

They were both sitting on her bed, staring at her Dark Mark.

"You've done it," breathed Harry, after making a final check that their room was secure. Hermione shook her head.

"Not yet. They don't trust me yet." Even though they knew they couldn't be overheard, they were still whispering. Harry laid his hand over Hermione's, squeezing it gently.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered. "You're doing brilliantly. Just keep it up a little longer, and we'll get rid of him once and for all."

"Harry…" Hermione tried to smile, but she couldn't quite manage it. "This won't end that easily. I'll always have the Dark Mark; I'll always be a Death Eater, from now on. What I've done – even if it is for the good of the Order – it won't ever go away."

"Once people know the truth, they'll forgive you." Harry's faith in human kindness was boundless.

Hermione gave a sigh. "I hope so."

* * *

I still hold on to that hope. 

After this episode, we move forward about a year. I would give more details, but they are irrelevant. Let us say that I killed more people than I am proud of – and one is too many. Believe me, I have suffered for my sins, a thousand times over.

It's futile to wonder if I can be forgiven for what I did, but I still do. Now that my children have flown the nest, and my darling Draco has found the sleep that is eternal, I spend my days writing, and wondering if – when all this comes out – someone out there can forgive me.

I know it's an impossible dream, but I like to dream it anyway.

* * *

Hermione had moved in with the Parkinsons. It was a lot easier for keeping up her pretence – she was shocked to realise that over a year had passed since her initiation. Finally, though, she was doing what she had set out to do. She was passing whatever information she could get to Harry – and it was difficult to do that. So far, they had managed to have Aurors "stumble" upon villages under attack. They had saved lives. 

She had taken many more lives than she had saved, so far.

It was hard work, being a spy; her loyalty was tested constantly. It was a miracle that she had succeeded. A miracle, and a lot of hard work. She had avoided being found out by other Order members, too; it was still the Trio's secret. This too was something of a miracle.

She still visited the Leaky Cauldron, though; and on her way through to Diagon Alley, she'd exchange a few words with someone or other. It helped her reputation, and allowed her to occasionally meet with Harry.

"Tom!" she greeted, waving to the barman as she passed through to the entrance to the Alley. Her Potions ingredients were running low, and since the death of Snape she'd become the Dark Lord's potions master – under strict supervision from Lucius, Draco, and Pansy, of course.

As she tapped the bricks, she withdrew her shopping list and examined it. She was so engrossed in it that when she passed in to Diagon Alley, she didn't notice a head whip around sharply, or hear the footsteps following her, until after she'd left the Potions shop and noticed something suspicious.

But every time she turned around, all she could see were shoppers – different to the last time she'd turned around, all examining products carefully.

She turned her head to face forward, and gave a little scream.

"Hello there Hermione!" Tonks was standing in front of her, a cheerful smile in place. Hermione gave a weak smile, unconsciously tugging her sleeve down further.

"Tonks," she greeted, somewhat unenthusiastically. Tonks didn't appear to get the hint, though. Her hair was its usual pink, and she wondered how she'd missed Tonks following her.

"Where've you been? Harry won't say much. He gets all awkward if you ask him." Tonks was babbling away happily. She moved to lean against the wall, but reached out and leant on a cauldron instead. It started to overbalance, threatening to spill its contents.

"Tonks!" Hermione said sharply, pointing to the cauldron. Tonks looked down, and jumped back from it.

"Oops. So, where've you been?"

"Busy." Oh, she wished now that she'd discussed cover stories with Harry. It showed an incredible lack of foresight on her part, to have forgotten the most important thing of all – avoiding discovery.

She always knew there was a chance, though. It was one she was willing to take.

"Busy where?"

"Just busy. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Let me give you a hand, come on-"

As Hermione brushed past, Tonks reached out and grabbed her arm, to try and help her carry her shopping. Hermione tripped, and flew headlong into the cauldron. Tonks, still holding on to Hermione's arm, was dragged down into the mess.

"Tonks! You stupid, stupid-" Hermione's ranting broke off as she realised that Tonks had grown stiff, and her eyes weren't on Hermione's face.

They were on her arm.

_The Dark Mark._

"You're a Death Eater," whispered Tonks in horror, finally bringing her eyes up to meet Hermione's. "That's where you've been hiding! You're a bloody _Death Eater_!"

'_Oh no.'_ Hermione groaned internally, but her face grew cold. "Clever girl," she said mockingly, remembering to stay in character. In one swift motion, she kicked Tonks off her, and _Accio_'d her shopping together. In walking past, she aimed another sharp kick at the shocked Tonks' ribcage. She felt something crunch underneath her foot. "Next time you bug me," she whispered harshly, grabbing a fistful of Tonks' hair and dragging it up so she could talk into her ear, "I'll hex you so hard you'll wish you were _dead_." Hermione threw Tonks down, a look of disgust on her face, and after adjusting her sleeve, she picked up her shopping and disappeared into the crowds.

'_Oh Merlin. This is the worst thing that could have happened. Oh no… Harry!'_

She disapparated back to the Parkinsons' as soon as she could, going straight to her Potions lab to hide from Pansy. She put her shopping away slowly, focusing on each package with all her concentration so that she could forget that only two people inside the Order would now know the truth; and so that she could forget the betrayal that had been in Tonks' eyes when she'd kicked her.

* * *

"How could you be so _stupid_!" 

Harry was pacing the small room of the Leaky Cauldron angrily, his hand constantly running through his hair; a sure sign of his worry. Hermione sat on the bed, biting her lip nervously.

"I mean, of all the people, _Tonks_? An Auror? Now you're going to be wanted, Hermione, you know that? And I can't keep you safe!" He punched the wall angrily, concerned for his friend more than for the information she provided. "Dammit, Hermione, that was just stupid! This isn't a game!"

"Don't you think I know that?" she shot back, equally as angry. "I'm the one who's out there every night _slaughtering_ people! And for the few villages we save, four more come under attack! I have to brew potions to _help_ Voldemort, I have to feel the burn of the Cruciatus every time he decides to test my loyalty! I've become a murderer for you, Harry! Just so that we can win! Of all people, _I_ know it isn't a game!" She stared furiously at Harry for a while, and then he sighed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." He sat down next to her and gave her an apologetic hug. "I'm just worried about you."

"I can look after myself, Harry, I promise. I've done alright this far; I'll keep it up. The main goal is to find out the last few horcruxes, and to then destroy Voldemort. I can help you do that, this way. Never mind the Order. They'll understand when it's all over."

"Alright." Harry gave a sigh. "I'll pretend this is news to me, too. And Ron will. He sends his love."

"I miss you," she whispered, thinking longingly of life back at the Order. Harry smiled.

"Then let's end this quickly, so that you can come home." That reminded her of something, and she chewed her lip anxiously.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What if Voldemort asks me to tell him where the Order's Headquarters are? You shouldn't have made me the Secret Keeper, Harry… I can lead him to you, and that means…" She trailed off, worry evident in her voice. They hadn't discussed this before. Thoughts of her betrayal had never crossed their minds.

"If that happens…" Harry fell silent, deep in thought, and then he looked up at her. "We can find another Headquarters. It'll be easier, now that Tonks has told everyone, to justify it. If you have to, tell him the truth. Keep your position secure. This will be the biggest proof to him that you are loyal to him above us."

"Okay." Hermione knew he was going to ask her for the Order's location soon, if she didn't volunteer the information herself; Lucius had found out, and warned Draco to prepare her. He had been hinting at it all day. "It might be soon."

"The Order will survive," Harry said simply. "I think I'm getting somewhere with tracking down the last two horcruxes, two. Ron and me are going away for a while to chase after a possible one, just as soon as I've found the new Headquarters. I'll try and keep in contact."

"It'll be safer if you don't." Hermione stood up. "I should go; there'll be a meeting soon, and Pansy's already wondering why I had to go out again."

"Pansy doesn't know you've been discovered?"

"She will when I get back," Hermione said grimly. "Good luck, Harry."

"I'll talk to you as soon as I can." Harry hugged her. "Chin up," he said with a smile. "You're doing brilliantly."

"Don't let this war go on much longer," she whispered, returning the hug. "I don't know how many more people I can kill."

"I'll end this soon, and you won't have to put up with this much longer. I promise."

It was an impossible promise to make, and they both knew it, but Hermione still felt a little better for hearing it. She watched Harry disapparate, and then she left herself.

That night, she knew, she would lead the Death Eaters against the Order. And her friends and her enemies would be mixed up, and she would have to kill them and betray them for the sake of the greater good.

Calling it that helped her sleep at night.

* * *

"You've been discovered?" 

Hermione nodded and shrugged. "Yes, one of them tailed me in Diagon Alley. I showed her what I thought of spies," she said with a growl, making sure that her dislike of spies was noticed. It secured her position within the ranks of Death Eaters.

Pansy didn't seem impressed, and neither did Lucius – the Malfoys had been summoned before Pansy had even acknowledged she'd heard Hermione's news. Draco, however, could barely contain his amusement.

"Father, we knew it was going to happen eventually," he said with a smirk. "All it does is confirm her story – that she came to us of her own free will. That she is loyal. Otherwise the Order wouldn't need to be spying on her."

"Or," answered Lucius, his voice silky, "this is a façade, designed to make us think along those exact lines, Draco." Hermione snorted at this.

"You give Potter too much credit, Lucius. He is a fool, a pathetic fool. He sent the worst Auror in decades to spy on my behaviour. Is that the action of an intelligent man?" Hermione shook her head, distaste causing her lip to curl.

"This is, regrettably, true." Lucius stood, and the meeting was over. "It would be amusing to have a more intelligent prey than Potter. It makes the hunt all the more fun. Come, Draco." Lucius swept out of the room, escorted by Pansy. Draco lingered for a moment, a sinister smile on his face as he looked over Hermione.

"You know, Granger, I think I like this side of you," he said, and then gave a wicked grin. "Too bad you're still a filthy Mudblood."

"Isn't Daddy waiting?" Hermione answered smoothly, and smirked when Lucius' shout followed her words, and Draco had to sprint to catch up with his father. "Still a Daddy's boy, Malfoy," she called after him, making sure the room was empty before she began to shiver.

'_If this was how Snape felt when he was a spy, no wonder he was such a bastard all the time.'_

* * *

"My lord." Hermione was robed and masked, bowing at Voldemort's feet. She kissed the hem of his robes dutifully. 

"Ah, my favourite Mudblood." This drew a laugh from the circle. Voldemort was so fond of making fun of her parentage, but she took it all in her stride. She had to, to prove her devotion to him. "What news?" He had yet to trust her enough to address her by her first name.

"I have news of the Order, my lord."

"Proceed." Voldemort seated himself in his stone throne, and she grovelled at his feet.

"Today, my lord, before that filthy Auror had spread the news, I met with an Order member who was unaware of my position within your ranks." They all knew of her encounter with Tonks – she had been Crucio'd for it. "And I was informed that without the presence of the Secret Keeper, the Order cannot alter the charms on the Headquarters."

"I am aware of how the Fidelius Charm operates, Mudblood. What I don't understand is why you are boring me with these monotonous details instead of providing us with _real_ information."

Hermione rose to her feet, her eyes glittering through the holes in the mask. She put as much venom and excitement into her voice as she could.

"My lord, this is merely the confirmation I needed before I brought you my greatest gift." She paused, meeting Voldemort's now intrigued gaze. "_I_ am the Secret Keeper for the Order of the Phoenix."

* * *

-ducks- 

Don't shoot! Review, instead :p


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

Thank you once more to the reviewers - I agree that this is a bit rushed, and I'm planning a re-write soon; once it's done, so there's no excuse to stop writing or updating it ;)

* * *

Needless to say, I betrayed the Order that night, leading an army of Death Eaters into it. At least two members died at my hand – Dean Thomas, Colin Creevey, both newly joined; and more, many more were put into St. Mungo's from my hexes. Each death, I felt like a knife at my soul, and when I heard that Minerva McGonagall died of a heart attack when she returned to the Order to find the Dark Mark over it, I would have cried; if my grief hadn't been too strong for that.

That attack was what elevated me within the ranks of the Death Eaters. What would have taken years to achieve now took mere weeks; I rose to an exalted position, working alongside Draco to aid the Dark Lord to victory.

Working alongside Draco…

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

* * *

_Five months after the attack on the Order_

* * *

"Hermione!"

Draco ran into the lab excitedly, skittering around the brewing cauldrons. "He's found a potential recipe for the Philosopher's Stone," beamed Draco enthusiastically, and Hermione felt her own excitement stirring. Whether or not she was loyal to Voldemort, this was of great academic interest to her.

"Let me see," she demanded, snatching the parchment from Draco. She ran her eyes over the ingredients, murmuring under her breath as she scanned over each one. Draco tried to snatch it back, but she refused to let it go, so he stood behind her and read it over her shoulder.

"That one will be tricky to find," she said, pointing to an ingredient. Draco nodded, his chin resting comfortably on her shoulder. Hermione would have edged away, but for the need to keep up appearances.

"I can find it," he said agreeably. "We don't need it until the second full moon, anyway."

"When you're finding it, can you stock up on dragon scales and claws for me?" She'd never had the luxury of using those potent ingredients before becoming a spy – it was the one thing she was grateful for. Potion brewing was easy work, for the most part, and granted her a freedom from the massacres of the meetings.

"He wants it started today," commented Draco. "I'll go out and get the extra ingredients. You stay here and get everything ready."

"Yes, sir," grinned Hermione. It was easier to keep up the pretence in the Potions lab, even around Draco. Once you were on his side, he was tolerable. He was even, though she'd never admit it, pleasant company.

She thought it might have been because she was missing Harry and Ron, that she found herself getting closer to Draco. After the attack, they had both disappeared on the hunt for the horcrux, and she hadn't heard from them since – apart from one letter, from Ron.

He'd called her a traitor, and accused her of betraying their trust and friendship. Harry can't have told him about their last meeting. She'd shown the letter to Pansy and Draco, and they all laughed over it, burning the letter – and then Draco set Pigwidgeon on fire, trussing him up in a parcel before sending it back.

Hermione knew, even without confirmation from Harry, that Ron thought she had been corrupted. He thought she had stopped spying for them the night she attacked the Order. And to send Pig back the way they did… He would never forgive her.

Perhaps that truly was why she was growing fonder of Draco. She'd grown accustomed to having boys around her – although Draco wasn't much of a boy any more. She started humming as she set up the cauldrons and raided her cupboards for what they'd need. Perhaps when all of this was over, when the war was over-

-no. That had been a foolish thought. When the war was over, Draco would go on trial for being a Death Eater, and he would face the Dementors. It was no good getting attached to him.

When he returned, it was with a serious look on his face. He deposited the ingredients in an empty cauldron, and threw a copy of the _Prophet_ at her.

"Front page," was all he said. Hermione unfolded it, and her eyes widened slightly at the headline.

_**HERMIONE GRANGER: DEATH EATER!**_

_BOY-WHO-LIVED SHOCKED_

_Reported by Rita Skeeter_

"Renowned Muggleborn, Hermione Granger, has recently been denounced as a Death Eater by her former best friend, the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter," she read aloud, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"Skip to the end," urged Draco. Hermione complied, turning the page for the continuation.

"The Ministry of Magic has… has placed a reward of ten thousand galleons for the person who captures Hermione Granger alive."

"Everyone's going to be looking for you, now," Draco said, worry in his voice. Hermione crumpled up the newspaper with a snort.

"Good luck to them," she said, finding it hard to feel as confident as she sounded. "Potter had it coming."

"Hermione, this is serious."

"I'm a big girl, Draco, I can take care of myself." He didn't look as if he believed her. She didn't quite believe it herself, but if she couldn't leave the manor – she couldn't contact Harry.

"You're needed here, Hermione, and frankly, I'm not going to take that risk. The Lord will support me in this. You're moving into the Manor with me. We'll work on creating the Stone there, and you will only leave that building for meetings, understand?" Draco sounded cross.

"Draco, really-"

"Hermione!" He was almost shouting now. "Go and pack your things. I won't take no for an answer."

"Fine." She stormed past Draco and headed up to her room. Only when she was up there did she allow tears to come to her eyes. _'Harry… not you, too!'_ Had he really thought she'd changed sides?

'_Harry… please don't leave me on my own. I don't know if I can keep this up much longer!'_

* * *

"Miss Granger."

"Lucius." Hermione nodded to the elder Malfoy as she joined them for dinner, seating herself between Narcissa and Draco. This was becoming a ritual – she hadn't arrived on time for a meal in the Malfoy manor since arriving. The recipe for the Philosopher's Stone was taking up most of her time, and she was worried about leaving it for minor matters, such as food. Draco usually dragged her away.

"Your dedication to the Dark Lord is remarkable," he'd usually comment; an exact echo of the words Lucius said now – now, and every time she was late. Each time she heard it, Hermione would give a smile.

"He has given me what I desire," she would say calmly – to Draco in the lab; to Lucius now, at the table. "It is only right that I repay him a thousandfold for his kindness."

This time, though, Narcissa broke the ritual. "Hermione, dear," she started gravely, "I have some… rather sad news for you."

"Sad?" Hermione looked up from her food, fork halfway to her mouth. "Narcissa?"

"Yes." Draco's mother gave a sigh. "I'm afraid there have been many attacks from the ordinary Wizarding public this week." Hermione tried not to look alarmed, although she felt it. She glanced at Draco, who had his eyes firmly fixed on his food. _'So he was keeping this from me,'_ she thought, surprised at how upset she felt.

"They are attacking places where they think you are being hidden," continued Narcissa. She was the only one at the table showing any kind of emotion. Hermione felt a surge of anxiety in her stomach, but her stomach was where it had to stay.

Draco, without moving his eyes from his plate, reached out and touched her hand gently.

"They have attacked the homes of several of our comrades," interrupted Lucius, his voice smooth and a relief after Narcissa's motherly tones. Hermione wasn't used to emotion being shown in company that way; that was why Draco's hand was sending a wave of panic through her.

"What can we do to stop them?" Hermione asked, matching her tones to the smooth velvety tones of Lucius. He shook his head.

"That is for our Master to decide," he said solemnly. Hermione nodded, and finally lifted her fork to her mouth. Draco squeezed her other hand briefly, and then continued to eat his food. Once she had thoroughly chewed the food and swallowed it, she turned to Lucius with fire blazing in her mind, though not in her eyes.

"As our Lord commands, so it shall be." _'I'm not going to die yet. Not until the truth is known. I will not die a traitor.'_

* * *

Dinner passed quickly after this brief conversation. Draco's hand strayed to touch hers every so often, as if imparting comfort. Hermione's face didn't react, but the last time his hand reached out, she squeezed his slightly in thanks. It wasn't long after this before she excused herself, her food barely touched, to check on the lab. She had only stirred the suspicious green goo a few times when a light tapping at the window distracted her.

She looked up, but there was nothing there.

"Weird," she murmured, returning to her stirring. Four times clockwise, pause, add crushed ladybirds, twice counter-clockwise-

The tapping sounded again. It sounded like the gentle _tap-tap_ of an owl, but there was none there.

_Tap tap tap._

Hermione growled softly under her breath, letting the potion simmer as she marched over to the window and threw it open – there _was_ something there! She could feel the window press against something, and then it fluttered past her and clattered down on top of her papers.

"_Revelo_," she murmured, pushing the window shut. An owl appeared, clicking sternly at her.

"Hedwig!" she whispered, almost reverently. It had been too long since she'd seen the snowy feathers of Harry's owl. Hedwig clutched a letter, and she deposited it on top of Hermione's papers, tilting her head at the window and blinking.

Hermione cast all the protective spells she knew, locking the door with strong magic to make sure Draco didn't interrupt, and then she opened the letter. Something else was tucked away inside the envelope.

_Hermione,_

_Before you finish reading this, make Hedwig invisible again and send her back home. This'll reduce risk of discovery._

It really _was_ Harry! Hermione's heart leapt, and she did as he instructed in the letter, opening the window to let the invisible owl flutter past. "Bye, Hedwig," she whispered to the owl as she felt soft feathers brush against her arm. Once she was sure Hedwig had left, she returned to the letter.

_I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you. It hasn't been safe to write to you. Ron's only just finished interrupting my mail – he really thinks you've turned evil. I must admit, I was doubtful when I saw what had happened to poor Pig, but I trust you, Hermione._

_I need to speak with you in person, or as close to it as we can get. Remember the mirror Sirius gave me? I found the other end of it, when we were cleaning out Grimmauld Place. I've sent you half. I'll keep the mirror on me at all times. Give me a shout when you're alone._

_I still believe in you._

_Love,_

_Harry._

It was almost enough to make her cry. Hermione fingered the letter fondly, extracting the mirror from the envelope and hiding it within her robes. She re-read the letter, and then she burnt it, removing the spells surrounding the lab. The mirror was disguised, hidden well in her pockets; and then she returned to her work, humming as she did so.

'_Harry still believes I'm on his side.'_ The thought made her happier than she'd felt since becoming a Death Eater. Knowing her work wasn't in vain, knowing he trusted her: it made it a little more worthwhile.

Even the murders were a little less brutal, for a while.

* * *

"Harry?"

Even though her room was private – she'd spent the last hour making so – she still kept her voice at a whisper as she held the mirror up to her face.

"Harry, are you there?"

She thought he wouldn't be there; it was nearing two in the morning, after all- but soon Harry's sleepy face filled the mirror.

"Hey Hermione," he greeted, equally as quiet. He didn't bother asking how she was; a fact she was glad for. "I took care of the horcrux," he whispered.

"Good. Only one left, now, before it's Voldemort's turn," she whispered gleefully. Harry gave a wan smile.

"I think I know what it is, too. Although it'll be tough to get rid of – the last one nearly killed me. If Ron hadn't been there, I don't know what I'd do."

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed sadly, wishing she could have been there. And then the mention of Ron:

"Does he still hate me?"

"…yes. I can't really blame him. As far as he's concerned, you attacked the Order of your own volition; you murdered his owl-"

"Draco murdered his owl."

"Typical Malfoy. I'm sorry, Hermione. I can't risk losing you – the information you've given me has saved so many people's lives. When all this is over, Ron will understand."

"Harry, the Ministry has put a reward on my head. I'm _wanted_. People are attacking places thought to be hiding me. I don't know what to do about it."

"It'll blow over." Harry's voice held some comfort for her, and when he said it, she could believe it. "The most important thing now is the last horcrux."

"Do you know what it is, for definite, yet?"

"I think so." Harry's comforting smile disappeared. "Hermione, I think-"

"Aah!" Hermione gave a small cry, almost dropping the mirror in the effort to clutch her forearm. "There's a meeting, Harry, I've got to go."

"Okay." Harry gave another smile. "You'll be fine," he reassured her, before he disappeared. Hermione wanted to call him back, but she couldn't – there was no time. In a swift movement, one she had become accustomed to, she donned her robe and mask and slipped silently from her room.

Voldemort beckoned.

* * *

It was over four hours later that she returned, exhausted and troubled from the meeting. Draco escorted her to her room in silence, giving her a small hug before he left for his own bed. Hermione smiled after him; a hug from a Malfoy was no token gesture. When she sat down, she waited until the others were in bed before she put her spells back up around the room.

"Harry?" she whispered cautiously. His face appeared instantly; it looked as though he had waited up for her.

"How'd it go?"

"Voldemort's planning on assassinating the Minister, since Rufus refuses to work with him," she whispered. "Increase his protection, and be careful. The attempt must not succeed, or everything will be chaos."

"Thanks." Harry seemed to make a note of this, and then his face turned back to hers in the mirror. "What else?"

"Voldemort… He wants to make it so that I can safely leave the house again," she started, all her troubles seeming to double as she spoke them aloud. It made them more real. "There was no revel tonight, because Voldemort was telling me how to fake my death. He wants Hermione Granger dead to the Wizarding world, Harry."

"Don't you have a choice?" Harry sounded sad, and with good reason, too, she thought. Hermione shook her head.

"Does anyone ever have choice when it comes to him?"

"What're you going to do?"

"False name, reinvented background, change of appearance – the full monty. Draco and Lucius have been working on an alias for me to use, one that means I can go out in public again. I can see you again, Harry!"

"If it's safe… I would like that." Harry gave a tight smile. "Do as he says, Hermione. As much as it hurts me to say this… for now, it's better if people think you're dead. When this all finishes, you can stop using your alias and go back to normal."

"I can't wait for that." Hermione grinned, the first time she'd smiled and meant it in a long while. _Too long._ "I'll find you with details of the alias and how the death is going to work. Voldemort has some powerful magic to fake it; it would be useful for us to record."

"Good. I'll make sure I always have some parchment on me."

"What were you saying, about the last horcrux before Voldemort himself?" Hermione tucked her legs up under her, relieved now that Harry supported her.

"I'll need your help to get rid of it," Harry said, sounding a little more unsure now. Hermione tilted her head curiously.

"How can _I_ help you? Surely Ron is in a better position to help you?"

"He's here, yes, but I need your research skills. I need you to help me, more than Ron can. Hermione… the last one, the last horcrux- I, I think it's _me_…"

* * *

Apologies once more for the hiatus!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** As before.

Thank you for the reviews - I'm glad you're enjoying the story:)

* * *

Even now, over sixty years on, when I remember those words I feel a shiver down my spine. Two of the biggest revelations in the war, in one night. I was to lose everything – even my life, in a way – for the war. And Harry: if he was the horcrux, we both knew he would have to die to defeat Voldemort properly. Who can live with that on their heads?

Somehow, we both managed to. The recipe for the Philosopher's Stone failed, and Voldemort chose to punish me by making my 'death' as painful as he could. He succeeded – never before have I felt so much pain. Even the pain of childbirth pales in comparison to the sensation of your body dying, yet not. I _felt_ the skin melt off my flesh, I felt my body stretch and creak as the bones were replaced, my hair fell out- and in the same instant, it was replaced. In the same instant as it melted, my skin was growing. Words cannot describe the pain.

Hermione Granger died on March 5th, 2004. Her body, a copy of my old self, was found by Aurors, confirmed to have the Dark Mark on, and she was buried in an unmarked grave as a traitor. I didn't realise it then, but I would never be able to go back to being Hermione Granger.

My new, Pureblood name was Vesta; Vesta Tomassi. I was introduced as an Italian Pureblood, and my appearance was changed to match. Gone was my big hair – it may have been unmanageable, but I know now how much I loved it. Gone was my skinny body and my pasty skin. I was reinvented completely – an olive complexion, silky black hair, an aristocratic face. An Italian, right down to the accent. That is the version of me that you will know.

Harry moved my grave to Godric's Hollow, and marked it with a small cross. When the war was over, he replaced it with a full memorial. Nobody ever asked him why, and he never told anyone.

Draco was buried close to the memorial, and I have stated that I would like to be buried between the two. The unifying force between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy; that is all I think of Vesta as. For when I fell in love with Draco, it was as Hermione, not Vesta, and it is as Hermione that I still love him.

And as for the horcrux…

* * *

"Miss Tomassi."

Lucius offered his arm, and Hermione accepted politely. They were attending a Ministry function, part of the plan for integrating the newly created Vesta into the Wizarding world. Draco had disappeared to find drinks for the two, and Lucius was taking the opportunity to claim a dance.

"Sir." Hermione fell easily into the steps of the dance. Draco had been teaching her the different dances of the aristocratic world over the past few weeks, and she had taken to dancing with a newfound grace and elegance. Her old body could never have danced this easily.

"You are performing well," murmured Lucius. From him, it was high praise, and Hermione swelled with pride. If she could succeed in this, she could go out more; she could find a place to meet up with Harry. She nodded her head back, maintaining the mysterious smile that Draco had helped her spend weeks practicing.

"It is easier to fool these idiots than I ever considered."

"Even Potter is convinced," commented Lucius, nodding to where Harry was mingling uncomfortably. There were as many Order members present as Death Eaters; each side carefully tiptoeing around the other. It would not do to attempt an assassination in polite company, she had been sternly informed. Vesta was to mingle, to immerse herself in Pureblood aristocratic culture and company. Hermione was to go along for the ride.

"Potter is the worst of them all," she answered, her lips flickering into a devious smile. "One might almost suggest a certain infatuation with Vesta – particularly from the way he keeps looking over here."

"Then perhaps," Lucius said slowly, thinking as he went along, "you should dance with him, too." His eyes glanced over her head, to someone or something behind them. Harry, she presumed. "Who can deny your status, when even their precious Golden Boy accepts it?"

"That sounds…" Hermione tilted her head to the side, her lips curling further into a smirk. "Perfect."

"Aside from Vesta here, what else is perfect?" Draco's voice came from behind her, and Hermione blushed inside. Of course, it would not do for Vesta to be seen blushing, and so she merely smiled calmly at Draco.

"None of your concern," answered Lucius, brushing his lips over her hand in true Pureblood fashion before leaving her in Draco's care. Draco clutched her hand almost protectively, glaring at his father's retreating back.

"Care for a dance?" he asked congenially, but there seemed to be an echo from behind him. Hermione glanced over Draco's shoulder and noticed Harry there, looking almost like a schoolboy with a crush.

"Potter," greeted Draco coolly. Only Hermione noticed the way his hand tightened on hers.

"Malfoy." Harry's voice was equally cool. "Miss Tomassi, would you give me the pleasure of this next dance?" he asked, pushing past Draco and bowing to her. Hermione's eyes flickered to Draco, who looked furious, and then over to Lucius, who nodded.

'_At least this will teach Draco not to be so possessive,'_ she thought, removing her hand from Draco's and extending it in Harry's direction.

"Mister Potter," she said, surprised at how sultry her voice sounded. "I would be delighted." She saw the way Draco's eyes narrowed, and as Harry gave a pleased smile and took her hand, Hermione watched Draco's back storm through the crowds.

"So, Miss Tomassi," began Harry, sweeping her off into the swirling dancers.

"Oh, Miss Tomassi sounds so _formal_," sighed Hermione, almost wincing as Harry stepped on her foot. He'd done it on purpose, she knew; she'd taught him to dance herself. "Call me Vesta," she added.

"Then, Vesta." Harry gave a shy smile, keeping up the appearance perfectly. _'Did either of us know how well we could act, when we came up with this idea?'_ mused Hermione in the pause. _'Did either of us know how far we'd have to go?'_ "I haven't seen you at one of these functions before," Harry said. Hermione cast her mind back to the start of the sentence.

"Oh, Mister Potter-"

"To you, Harry."

"Very well then," she said, with a polite, tinkling laugh. "Harry. I've recently come here from my home, back in Naples, to spend time with my cousins and absorb your country's fascinating culture."

"Ah, I can hear a trace of the accent in your voice," he commented, twirling her around. As she was pulled in closer to him, he whispered a time in her ear, and she nodded. _'Mirror.'_ "I hope to see you at more of these functions," he said with a sincere, infatuated smile as the song came to an end. "It was a pleasure, Vesta."

Draco was at her side in an instant, almost snatching her away from Harry, and before she could say a word he was pulling her along, past all the dancers and into the cool of the night. They stopped outside the manor, and Hermione put her hands indignantly on her hips.

"What the hell was that, Draco?"

"What did he say?" he snarled, ignoring her question. Hermione looked stunned.

"What? He was just talking!"

"What did he _whisper_? Did he whisper words of longing? Did he whisper poison? Or _does he know who you are_?"

The sting of betrayal hit her once more, but she masked it, recoiling in disgust from Draco. "He whispered a compliment," she said coldly. "He's infatuated with me, Draco. I have no interest in him whatsoever. And I am _not_ a traitor." It was true: she hadn't betrayed the side she was on. It just happened to be different to the one Draco knew.

"Then why did you dance with him?" Draco was pacing angrily around her, like a caged beast who has found his prey. "Why bother?"

"Lucius recommended it." This side of Draco was scaring her. "He claimed it would help me."

"Damn him!"

"Draco, what the-"

"He did it on purpose!" Her mind shot back to Lucius' calculating glance over her, and she knew now who he'd been looking at. "He knew it would- I hate him, Herm- Vesta. I _hate_ him."

"Draco, what in Merlin's name is going on?"

"Nothing, Hermione." He whispered her name. "Just remember that I know who you really are." He grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her closer to him. "You're mine," he hissed at her, before disappearing back into the manor; presumably to shout at Lucius. Or, thought Hermione, trying to remain rational to stop herself from shaking, not to shout. To argue, in that fluid, elegant, Pureblood way of theirs.

_I know who you really are._

Draco's words revolved in her head, and she clutched her dressrobes tighter around her, shivering in the night air.

_You're mine._

What had he meant by that? Hermione shook her head, blinking back tears. In over five years, she hadn't shed a single one – she'd murdered, tortured, _been_ tortured, been deemed a murderer and a traitor; she'd even _died_ at the hands of black magic – yet only now did tears finally come to her eyes. She shook them away again.

'_I won't give in now.'_

* * *

Draco worked in silence as they cleaned the lab. Every time she had tried to talk to him, he'd cursed at her until she stopped. The silence was unnerving. Eventually, when she'd swept the same patch of floor a dozen times, she tried again.

"Draco?" She put her hand on his shoulder, now becoming accustomed to seeing another person where Hermione should have been. He shrugged it off.

"Fuck off," he growled. He, too, was sweeping the same patch of floor over and over again, without thought. Hermione's eyes narrowed. If he wasn't going to co-operate, then she was going to go along with Lucius' suggestions, and Draco could just put up with it.

"You know," she said conversationally, watching him carefully, "Potter invited Vesta to a Ministry dance. I wasn't going to go, although Lucius suggested I should, to keep up appearances. I think I've changed my mind, now."

Draco stiffened, and for a moment he looked as though he was going to explode; but silence followed, and Hermione gave a sigh.

"I was going to ask you to go with me," she said coldly, standing in the doorway of the lab. "But I suppose there's no point in that any more." As she left, she heard the broom clatter to the floor.

'_I'll be damned if I let him ruin all my hard work,'_ she growled inside her mind, marching off to find Lucius and request he reply to Harry on her behalf. _'Five years, Draco. I've come this far. You won't ruin it for me.'_

* * *

"I do hope I'm not late."

Resplendant in black dress robes, Hermione made her way over to where Harry was standing. Fashionably late, and accompanied by a Death Eater escort to protect her from the Order, she held out her hand when he bowed.

"A true lady is always late," quipped Harry with a smile. Hermione also gave a smile – cold and polite, distant – and looked at the man standing next to Harry. Her heart flipped. _Ron._

"Ahem, Miss Tomassi." Formal all of a sudden, Harry gestured to the red-haired wizard. "May I introduce you to Ronald Weasley."

'_Oh Harry, you bastard.'_ "It's a pleasure, Mr. Weasley." Hermione gave a small curtsy when Ron looked her way. He didn't take her hand as the others had, nor did he bow.

"Likewise," he said, distractedly. Hermione noticed the way Harry elbowed Ron, and the way the lanky wizard seemed to come to his senses. He kissed her hand, and with a murmured apology he disappeared into the crowd.

"He's a little busy," apologised Harry, leading her over to the buffet table to locate a drink. As they left her entourage, he whispered in her ear "It's been over a year since Hermione officially betrayed us."

A year? Hermione almost flinched, but she kept a steady face. "He needs to move on," she whispered back, and then, aloud, "I would love a glass of wine, thank you."

"I'm trying to get him to forget you, but he won't." Harry sighed, speaking in low tones as he proferred a glass. "He will, though, in time. Would you like to dance?"

"I've been dancing so much this week." Her laugh was the light, easy laugh of someone who knows they're better than everyone else. Lucius had spent ages teaching her to laugh like that. Harry merely smiled, and changed the subject. "Well then, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"There's not much to tell," she said, almost simpering. Lucius had instructed her how she was to perform, and her escort would be reporting back to him. It had been risky to even mention Ron further, and she hoped it wouldn't get back to Lucius. It was best to play the part. "I was educated in Beauxbatons, and now I am seeking further education in England." She ventured a further giggle – Pansy had coached her in the airheaded giggle that seemed to be a sign of education and status. As far as she was concerned, it sounded pathetic; but it was what was expected of her.

"I would ask you to say a little about yourself, but your fame is worldwide," she said flatteringly. Harry gave a smile, as if he were charmed by her fake sincerity.

"If I ever fall for this, slap me," he mumbled under his breath, taking her arm and escorting her to meet some of the Ministry officials. Hermione laughed, curtseying politely to those she was introduced to. Across the room, she met the eyes of one of her escorts. To her surprise, it was Draco's face underneath the hood of the cloak, his grey eyes boring into her skull as she moved around the room, playing the part perfectly. _'I'm not going to give you the excuse to give a bad report about me,'_ she thought viciously as she flashed him a twinkling smile. _'Or the satisfaction.'_

The afternoon was long, and her feet were aching by the end of it, but Vesta Tomassi was extremely well-received, and as Hermione was presented her cloak and invited back to the Ministry by many ministers, not least Harry, she took Draco's arm with an almost smug smile.

"Did you have a nice afternoon?" she trilled as they left, waving and giving charming smiles to everyone they passed. Draco was silent until they were out of sight of the Ministry – and out of sight of other people – and then he almost threw her against the wall, pinning her hands back with a growl.

"Bitch," he hissed, jealousy plain in his eyes. Hermione's shock turned to a satisfied smile.

"Problem, Draco?" she asked sweetly. He said nothing – what could he say without seeming weak and becoming a liability? After a few seconds of silence, Hermione drew back her knee and drove it into Draco's crotch, smirking as he folded up.

"Then I suggest we leave," she said, straightening her robes out. "Lucius will be worrying, otherwise." Without waiting for Draco to recover, she apparated back to the Manor.

'_One – nil,'_ she thought to herself as she arrived, making her way towards Lucius' study to report. _'I won't let you win, Draco. Ever.'_

* * *

"You are doing well, Vesta." Lucius, elegant as ever, stood in the doorway to the lab. Draco had gone to bed early, presumably sulking over some nonsense. "The world is fooled."

"It is too easy." Hermione measured out the lacewings carefully, showing none of her nerves. "They enjoy a show."

"You are perhaps a little too natural with it," Lucius commented. Hermione knew he was referring to Draco. "He will behave, in time."

"He will have no choice," she said smoothly, sprinkling the lacewings into the potion she was brewing. "Is there another reason for your visit, Lucius?"

"The Lord requires your assistance."

"What with?"

"The final fight against that blasted Order." Hermione tensed, which Lucius seemed to note with interest. She had to cover up quickly; the shock on her face gave way to an excited smile.

"It'll be soon?" she asked eagerly. Lucius gave a curt nod, and motioned for her to sit before divulging what little he knew of the final plans. Hermione absorbed it all, storing it carefully in the back of her mind to relate to Harry as soon as she could.

* * *

It was late when she finally retired. Hermione wanted to be sure that the house was asleep before risking a conversation with Harry. After casting her usual spells; silencing spells, alerts to let her know if others awoke; she held the mirror up to her face.

"Harry?"

"I'm here." Harry's face appeared almost instantly, creased with worry.

"What's wrong?"

"I've just come from a meeting."

"About?"

"The last horcrux." He rubbed his scar angrily. "I'm convinced that it's in me, Hermione. Because I've been doing some tests on the ones we've found already. The ones we've found date as horcruxes from way past the prophecy, a couple of years. It was as if Voldemort had stopped making them. And then-"

"He heard the prophecy," breathed Hermione, "and when the curse rebounded, _that's_ the bit of himself that he put into you."

"That's what Lupin thinks," Harry said gloomily. "Dumbledore himself said that there was a bit of Voldemort in me. That's the only possible explanation."

"Have you tried using that spell for them?"

"Perfect match." It wasn't possible for Harry's tone to become any more glum. "He's a clever wizard, Hermione. Maybe too clever for me."

"Don't think like that!" Her voice was sharp, and she softened it with a smile. "Harry, we can do this. We've fooled him this far."

"_You_ have. And you've paid too much for it already." Harry's face was somber, his eyes shining as if he wanted to cry. The mirror went blurry for a moment, and Hermione realised she had tears in her own eyes. "You can't ever go back, can you?"

"No." Hermione shrugged, trying not to show any more emotion. She couldn't afford to cry until all this was over, until she was free. "If it was a choice, between going back and losing everything, or moving on and winning – you know I would choose for us to win."

"You've made such a sacrifice for us. I want you to know that I appreciate it, and that everyone else will too."

"I'll find a way to save you, Harry. You may be a horcrux, but I'm not going to let you die."

"If it's the only way-"

"No." Hermione smiled, a calm simple smile that Harry knew he couldn't argue with. "You're going to make it through this. I promise."

"As Vesta or Hermione?" Harry asked, winking at her. Hermione rolled her eyes, glad to see his serious mood vanish.

"As me, Harry. I'll let you know when I think of something."

"Alright. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Night, Harry." Hermione watched as Harry's face disappeared from the mirror, and then she slipped it back into its hiding place. She'd mention Voldemort's plans when she knew more of them; for now, removing the Horcrux from Harry was more important. There _had_ to be a way to save him. And she would find it, even if it killed her.

* * *


End file.
